


Avatar Martin AUs

by thegreatandpowerfultoaster



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Archivist Martin Blackwood, Blood, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Corruption Avatar Martin Blackwood, Desolation Avatar Martin Blackwood, Flesh!Martin, Hive!Martin, Horror, Hunt!Martin, Mind Control, Multi, The iconic arson scene, buried!martin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22486447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatandpowerfultoaster/pseuds/thegreatandpowerfultoaster
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin! Martin, but he's an avatar of every power.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Sasha James, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 16
Kudos: 127





	1. The Eye

**Author's Note:**

> These are totally just for me to practice! I might do them with other characters, even. If you want to pick up one and make it a thing of your own, please do, just tell me because I'll want to read it!

Martin has Known, and Seen, before. He has gotten knowledge through reading, and asking, with a gentle touch and compulsion spilling from his mouth like honey. 

And the Eye is grateful for these things, the knowledge he had gained before, as the Archivist, but this is something else. He sees everything, now. Everything is a truly unimaginable amount, and were he still human, Martin would have not been able to take it. He would have shattered, like a glass pane under too much pressure.

Someone takes his hand, and he can feel it distantly, but there is so much to look at, and take in that is not near his physical form. There is not breath in his ear. And a weight on his shoulder. Pleasant. Closest compared to a warm weighted blanket, or tarp. Not a person, although Martin Knows that his person is smaller than most in his age range, statisticly speaking.

It was the reason he'd done this. Or..Why he started, at least but knowledge is flowing through him in a never-ending stream of soft pleasure. He'd started this to keep Jon safe, but now he isn't sure that this could have ever ended any other way.

Martin slowly collects himself, shuts out most of the Sight granted to him, and opens his eyes. "Jon," he says. It is hard to speak. Of course it is. Even in his less than human form, Eternity, Everything is not an easy thing to bear. 

Thin arms wrap tightly around his neck, and a head nuzzles into his chest, hair ticking Martin's nose.

It is so little, compared to his Everything. It used to _be_ his everything, but how can it compare, now that he has Seen? Hurting Jon though, would be unpleasant. Martin slowly runs a hand through his hair, and down his back. "Jon," he says. "You have to go."

Jon quickly draws back, and scowls at him. "No. No. _We're_ going to go. Go home, where we can figure out what do so about...all of this."

"Go home," He says softly, "You'll be safe there." It is the one thing Martin can still fool himself about. Jon is not truly safe anywhere, anymore. Martin knows (he doesn't have to Know) that Jon will not listen, and let himself sit idily by when he thinks he can take action. 

Jon stands up, glassy eyed and turns away from him, stumbling away. He will be angry, later, but it won't matter. Martin opens his eyes again, to his Everything.


	2. The Flesh

"You - You want me to what?!"

"It's as an anchor," Jon says slowly. "I wouldn't want anyone else to, Martin."

Martin prays Jon can't hear what his heart rate's gone and done, but with three separate lubb-dubb sounds going on down there it'd be a miracle for him not to. Plus, all the extra blood contributed to where it's pooling in his cheeks. 

"I'm not really...I'm still pretty new at this," He says. "But I haven't seen Jared since - Well, I guess I'm kind of your only option either way, aren't I?"

Oh, but what if he messes up? It's so easy to lose yourself, searching around in a body, even if it's something specific. Being up to your elbows in blood, and muscle, and bone, it's cathartic. It would be so easy to lose himself, were he to reach inside of Jon for something, anything, and that sort of terrifies him. 

Because despite the fact that Jon probably wouldn't mind prying a statement out of him, Martin has always liked Jon, even before he'd realized that Jon was not Gertrude and didn't know how to hurt him yet, or what Martin was. 

"I'd rather have you do it anyways," Jon says, looking him squarely in the eyes, and for some reason, it doesn't deter Martin's affections .

"It's going to hurt."

"Y - Yes. I suspected as much."

"I'm not going to stop when you scream."

He goes pale at that, but Martin needs to get it into his head what exactly he's asking for. "M - Maybe we could have a...I don't know, a word?"

"You'll say it," he says. "Jon, I'm not - I'm not a surgeon. It's not going to be...You're probably going to hate me for a little while afterwards. Maybe forever?"

"I'm not going to -"

"You will. Can I...Can I try to explain exactly what's going to happen?"

He goes a shade lighter, like ash, but nods.

Martin holds out his hand, in front of Jon, palm up. "I'd have to reach in you, first. It wouldn't be hard for me, I've done that bit before. I think you'd want a rib, maybe. One of the lower ones, because the upper ones are closer to your lungs and heart. I wouldn't let myself near either of those, because h - honestly? I'd just want to touch. The rib'd have to snap, probably into a sharp edge on both sides, and then I'd have to pull it back out. And...It's going to be kind of a struggle to make myself get out. I'll probably be covered in your blood, but maybe it won't matter much to you by that point, because you'll likely have passed out." 

He already looks halfway to the passing out bit. "I - Oh. I -"

Martin sighs, and slowly picks up Jon's hand, who doesn't pull away, just stares. "I just want you to know what you're getting into. It wouldn't be fair if I didn't tell you everything. There's other ways to get anchors, Jon. You don't have to do that."

He shifts, from one side to the other, perfectly weighted. Symmetrical. (Martin wonders when the last time he was symmetrical was. Before the thing with the vertebrae, maybe? He liked being shorter than before, though.) "I - I don't really know if there's anything else strong enough. I'm not - there isn't really anything - or anyone. I want you to do it."

"Jon, we can think of something else!"

"There isn't anything! Please. I know it will be horrible but I have to do _something_. E - Either you do this for me and maybe I come back, or I go down anyways and just do my best." He huffs out a sigh, and pulls his hand out of Martin's, using it to run a hand through his greying hair. "I trust that you'll do your best, Martin."

The thing is, he's never really pulled something out of someone with the intent of keeping them alive afterwards. It seemed kind of cruel to take a lung, or a stomach, or even an arm, once and then have to leave without explaining who he was and why he's decided to take something from them.

If he takes something from Jon, he'll probably never see him again, whether he escapes from the Too-Close-I-Cannot-Breath or not. But if Jon says this is his only option, he's probably right. Martin sighs, and sighs, and sighs until he runs out of lungs with air. "Okay," he says. " But I have a condition. I want - I want it. After you get back, you have to bring it to me. "

He looks at him, incredulous. "My rib? Why do you want...? Are you going to put it in there?" He points to Martin's torso, which, _rude_.

Martin can't help but to flush again, though. "Maybe, does it matter?" 

"I - No. I suppose that it doesn't. Fine. You can have it, when I'm done. Now, should I lie down or what, exactly?"

He lets Jon adjust, and takes a deep breath himself, before rucking up Jon's shirt about halfway up and reaching in. 

He does scream. Martin would wince, or hush at him reassuringly, but he is lost in the feeling of Flesh. This is Jon, at the most base level. Martin reaches out and lets himself feel the contractions of his heart.

It's only for a second, less than one, even. And then there's the telltale snap of a bone, and Martin pulls out, holding...a rib. Or about three-fourths of one, anyways. It was a clean snap, at least. 

Jon is panting in and out, blood drained entirely from his face. Martin hadn't noticed that he'd stopped yelling, but he was a little busy trying to keep himself together in the face of his task. 

"A - Are you okay? That's a stupid question, but I could mean, I could find you a glass of water or something?" Ugh, he feels ridiculous for offering. "I'll just...wipe this off for you."

"Martin?"

"Um...Yes?"

He goes back to wheezing, for a moment and Martin resists the urge to toy with the rib in his hands.

"Thank you. You'll...You'll get it. I promise."

"I don't care, okay? This isn't a...a transaction. The rib doesn't...doesn't really matter. Just come back, okay?"


	3. The Buried

Martin is always cold above the dirt, and the tears that leak from his eyes are the ruddy color of tea, and they leave clay colored tracks down his cheeks. When he speaks, flowers fall from his lips, like a fairytale. 

He is constantly wrapping his oversized sweaters closer in an attempt to feel safe again, and emulate the feeling of being enclosed. Nothing really feels the same as it does below, up here. There is too much air in his lungs and space around him to truly feel right, but he makes do. 

And then the Archivist comes around. He is clueless, and new, and thinks Martin is a monster, but Martin still likes him. He offers help where he can (even though it isn't much, he tries to stay away from most of their kind), and brings him too-hot cups of tea, and even ignores when he says something less-than tactful about some of the...stranger aspects of Martin.

In turn the Archivist does his best to not ask questions, and keeps Martin warm (He doesn't seem like the hugging sort, but Martin found out that that wasn't the case very quickly), and only really pretends to be annoyed about the tea, and the dirt tracked through his rarely-visited flat and his office when The Eye's Archives won't tell Martin if he's eaten lunch, yet. 

It makes being above the ground worth it, he supposes, although his love for the Archivist does not suffocate him, it still envelops him pleasantly enough.


	4. The Desolation

There is nothing that Martin wouldn't do for the people he loves. 

This has very much always been the case, although perhaps not to the extent his God takes it to. He dropped out of school for his mother, and lied to keep her in the home that she'd _wanted_ to go to, and suffered because nobody else in the archives wanted to do any actual work, and left it to him.

None of those things is the one that makes him snap.

He says snap, of course, but what he means is strike. Strike, like lighting a match of the way a snake sits still and calm and then lunges. 

The thing that makes him strike is a hand in his face, eyes, eyes, Eyes digging into everything he's ever held dear. He opens his own eyes again, glances to the floor where light smoke rises from the bin, and he decides that is going to be him. 

Not the paper, or the match, or the bin. The fire. He can let it consume him, if he wants, and from then on, he'll not be the one sacrificing everything for his family of choice.

This time it's not going to be him.

Martin doesn't _mean_ to kill Elias. Sure, he'd deserved it, but the risk was so big, he wouldn't have tried, if he was actually thinking about it (Besides, he was a little more vindictive than that. First his house would go, and then the statements, one by one, until the archive was ash, or little bits of shredded paper. And then Elias Himself).

It feels so, so good, though. Not just the freedom, not just the doing something good for everyone, but the power. The way his eyes light up when he realises that it's poor, helpful Martin is going to cook him from the inside out, not Melanie with a knife or Tim with an axe or Daisy with a gun.

Him. 

Even once he's realized what's happrning, Elias doesn't stand a chance. He struggles, of course, but even before the flames consumed him, Martin could easily physically overpower him. Or at least he could have, if Elias didn't constantly know that they were doing. 

He wonders of Jon and Tim and Basira and Melanie will be proud of him, for this. His hand warps around Elias's wrist like hot wax - he stops struggling, then, which is for the best.


	5. The Corruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I might have a bias towards the Corruption. I feel like a psychiatrist would probably want to dissect that one, but I'm just going for it.

Martin hums now. He doesn't really notice it much, it's just kind of like there's a song stuck in his head. 

He dreams about the song. He hears it when he's sleeping, but instead of being annoying or ruining his rest, it lulls him into a deeper sleep.

He hums while he makes tea in the mornings. He's gone back to his own flat, even though Jon wanted him to keep staying in the Institute until something was done about Prentiss. And that was - it was fine, really, but the space wasn't really his to give, and Martin didn't want to impose any more than necessary.

He thought going home after all that was going to be harder than it was. After all.of that, it should have been hard, maybe. Something should have twisted up inside him, walking back in through the door. And it did ~~not twisted, squirmed~~ but it was the sort of glad to be back feeling. Glad to be back in his own bed. 

He hums at work too, even though the time never sounds right, there, even in his head. 

"You alright, man?" Tim asks, and ~~they~~ he smiles and nods. 

"Just a good day," He says. That's all.

Tim grins, bright as sunshine. "Good. I'm glad you're doing okay."

Why wouldn't he be?

He hums a little louder so Tim can hear the song, too. The song that's like family, the song that's like home, ~~the song that's like hive~~. 

Tim deserves to be ~~a home~~ happy like Martin, too! 

Him, and Sasha, and Jon, and - they deserve the happiness too, right?

That's all Martin's ever wanted, after all. ~~To be someone's home~~ to make people happy. ~~to infect and grow and love in a sickly sweet rotten way~~

~~to have and hold and control and become~~

~~to squirm and sing and buzz and writher and squish and~~


End file.
